Sanctuary
by Crittab
Summary: Daryl, Carol, Glenn and Maggie stumble upon an old Catholic church, which prompts some unpleasant memories for Daryl, who had abandoned religion long ago.


**Sanctuary **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Walking Dead.

**Summary:** Daryl and co. stumble upon an old Catholic church, which prompts some unpleasant memories for the man who had abandoned religion long ago.

* * *

**Sanctuary**

It was late afternoon when the small party of Daryl, Carol, Glenn and Maggie found their way through the thick woods to a clearing. They'd been hunting all afternoon, Daryl trying in vain to teach them all how to track. They were good enough hunters, each able to kill a few squirrels or rabbits when they crossed their paths, but Daryl knew that wouldn't be good enough for long. They had to learn how to find food that wasn't looking to get caught, otherwise they'd never make it through another winter. The last year had been lean, to say the least, and that was with Daryl hunting damn near all day every day.

And to make things worse, the number of mouths they had to feed had gone and quadrupled overnight, thanks to the influx of Woodbury's oldest and youngest residents. Daryl still couldn't wrap his head around taking them in. It just seemed like they were asking for trouble.

He shook that thought off as he looked out over the clearing. They'd stumbled upon a dilapidated graveyard, with a massive Georgian church in the distance – the kind he could imagine hundreds of worshippers visiting on Sunday mornings to pray away their doubts and fears.

_Lotta good that did 'em_, he thought. The group had stopped just on the outskirts of the graveyard, obviously unsure of where to go from this point.

"Let's head back," Daryl said, turning back towards the thick.

"Wait a second," Carol stopped him with a hand on his arm. "We should go inside."

"Why? It's just an old church," said Glenn.

"No, Carol's right," Maggie cut in. "There may be supplies inside." The guys eyed her sceptically, but she ignored them, squeezing Carol's hand in solidarity before setting forth across the graveyard.

"We're sposed to be huntin', not robbin' a goddamn church," Daryl grumbled under his breath before following after them. Five minutes. They had five minutes to find whatever they were gonna find before he pulled the plug on this little side adventure.

The heavy wooden doors creaked and groaned angrily as Carol and Maggie used their combined weight to pull them open. Inside the dust collected in the air, catching light from the windows near the top of the walls, allowing a dim, foggy haze to settle inside.

The sanctuary itself was in fairly good shape, Daryl noted, as they walked up the aisle. He looked around for the dead, but only spotted a few hymnals left open and bibles on the bench-seats as he looked down each and every row of pews.

The church was massive on the inside. Much larger than it appeared from the tree line. There were rows and rows of pews, set back a few feet from a grand stage guarded by statues of angels and demons on either side. Daryl ran his eyes over the imposing pulpit and found a rosary hanging from the desk lamp.

Catholic. He rolled his eyes. Catholic churches only reminded him of one thing – something he'd be happy to forget.

"This place is incredible," Maggie's voice cut through the thickness and reverberated off the walls. Daryl watched as she ran her hands over one of the statues. He half expected it to come to life and consume her whole – an image similar to one he'd concocted last time he was in a Catholic church, when they were having a funeral for his mom. He shook that thought away and gave the room one more cursory check before heading to the door next to the stage and pushing it open.

"C'mon. Let's get this show on the road," he grumbled, encouraging the others to follow along.

As they ventured into the bowels of the church the group split apart, each checking different rooms for supplies. Daryl slipped into the room immediately behind the sanctuary, finding it graciously, if suspiciously unlocked. He pushed it open and found the reason for that all too quickly as a robe-clad walker surged angrily toward him, lips pulled back in a deathly snarl, eyes popping forth as lids receded. Daryl dispatched the old priest hastily and pulled the body from the room, leaving it just outside in the hallway as he moved deeper into the room that he identified as the priest's office.

"Father Montgomery," he read quietly from the nameplate on the antique desk. The room smelled of human rot, and Daryl had no doubt that the man had been dead in there for quite some time.

He began opening drawers on the desk, seeking out anything that might be valuable, though he had no expectation of finding much of anything. If the old man had died in here, he probably did so following a long period of dehydration and starvation. Daryl doubted a man of God would stoop to suicide. He winced a little at the thought, remembering how the Catholic Church had responded to his mother's death, after it had been ruled a suicide.

* * *

Daryl sat on a pew of the old, broken down Catholic church off Main Street, wedged uncomfortably between his father and brother as his mother's ashes – what was left of 'em, anyway – were encased in a small, unassuming urn at the front of the room. Surrounding them were the few friends and family members the Dixon's had, along with a couple of neighbours who had been kind to his poor, beaten down mother over the years.

Even at seven, Daryl was no stranger to the pain that had been inflicted on his mother and brother over the years. Merle sat beside him, fourteen, angry, fresh out of juvi with an axe to grind with just about everybody in this room. He hadn't been around when their mama had burned herself up along with the old house. Daryl couldn't help but think that was a good thing.

From the pulpit of Saint James Cathedral in Nowheresville, Georgia, Father Ellis began a service that would stick with Daryl forever. After twelve minutes of fully eviscerating Daryl's mother and damning the woman to hell for the sin of taking her own life, the man moved on to discussing the love of their Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and his angry, vengeful father. At seven, Daryl couldn't wrap his head around why he should give so much deference to a guy who hated them all so much. The whole thing seemed a little hokey to him, anyway.

He grew up believing religion was a myth, not just because it was hard to believe, but because of the horrible things that man had said from his pulpit that day.

* * *

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek, willing away the memories of that day. He'd done well enough moving on after his mother's death – hadn't had much time to dwell on it, what with Merle back and he and his father entering into World War Three every waking moment.

He took a deep breath and shook his head to clear it before continuing his journey through the office. On the desktop there were papers scattered about, a cup full of water had tipped over and long since dried up, curling the edges of the note pages where it licked at them. Daryl peered down at the yellowing sheets and squinted to read the slanted cursive.

It was a sermon. The Priest's last, it would seem.

It spoke of an empire falling, God's wrath, a parish burning, poverty overtaking, bridges collapsing – the norm, as far as he could tell. Typical end of days stuff. He supposed he couldn't blame the old man for that. Daryl wasn't sure if he believed the outbreak was the end of days, but he'd be hard pressed to find an alternative some days.

He was pulled from his musings by a noise at the door. He glanced up and saw Carol leaning against the jam.

"You looked lost there for a moment," she noted. Daryl shook his head.

"S'nothin'. You find anythin'?" She shrugged.

"There were some matches and canned goods in the bell tower. How about you?"

"Nope," he said gruffly, stepping away from the old desk and toward the door. "'cept Father Montgomery here. He was lookin' to introduce me to the good Lord." Carol frowned as she looked down at the emaciated carcass in the doorway.

"That's a shame." Daryl eyed her curiously. "Figure we could all use a little more God in our lives, things being how they are." He rolled his eyes.

"I don't think Jesus is lookin' a' help any of us these days." Carol shrugged a non-committal shoulder and headed away from the door with Daryl following close behind. They met up with Maggie and Glenn in the sanctuary once more before the four headed out.

Daryl stopped at the door, taking another look back inside. Then, he pushed the heavy door closed on the church, on God, on whatever else might linger inside.

Outside the late afternoon had turned to dusk, and the first starts of the night could be seen just beyond the horizon. Daryl took a deep, clear breath, pushing out the remnants of death and decay that were left over from the old Priest. He set up a quick pace away from the church and the memories it had ignited, heading toward the trees that danced and swayed in the distance – his own sanctuary. That's where he felt God – if there was a God. Not in some old church, but in the wilderness.

* * *

Following the service, once they were out of the only dress clothes they owned, Daryl took off for the tree line, running as fast as he could away from the storm brewing in his family's new trailer home. He could feel an almost unbearable tension in his chest as he cut into the trees, running, running, running, until he collapsed against a giant oak, about a quarter mile from the edge of the forest.

He sunk to the ground, weighted down by the events of the day, the words of the priest and the anger of his family. Then, when he felt he could bear the pressure no more, a strangled sob broke through, followed by another and another, until he was weeping openly and uncontrollably, far from the judging eyes of his father and brother; far from the anger of the priest and the hatred of the Lord, or whatever entity resided in that church; far from ashen remains of his mother. Far from everything.

The forest was where Daryl found solace – found sanctuary.

At seven he didn't realize it, but the comfort of the trees would never leave him. God would always be found among the moss and bark. This was something he could believe in.

**End**

* * *

_This is based on a friend who lost someone to suicide and had to sit through a Catholic service where the Priest essentially damned the boy to Hell for taking his own life. Seems like that kind of stuff might be even worse in the Bible Belt._


End file.
